


Burning Bridges

by Smutnug



Series: Chasing Eve [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 08:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11287557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smutnug/pseuds/Smutnug
Summary: Eve Trevelyan returns.





	1. Chapter 1

The celebration was muted, in the glaring absence of the Inquisitor. Josie wore her throat hoarse making apologies to the gathered nobles. Eve was indisposed. No, nothing serious. No, she could not say when she might emerge from her quarters.

“We should have cancelled,” Cassandra grumbled.

“Nonsense. That would have been a greater scandal.” Josie watched the progress of a tray of cakes with anxious eyes. “Besides, we have won a great victory. We deserve to celebrate.”

“It doesn't look much like a celebration to me.”

She was right. Sera was surly, Varric dejected. Cole hovered nervously by the banquet table and Blackwall wore a face like stone. Even Dorian was subdued. And the Iron Bull...he sat with rounded shoulders, unseeing as he stared into his drink.

“She won't come out?”

Josie glanced at the door to the Inquisitor’s quarters. “She hasn't been out since they arrived back from Haven. She still refuses to speak to anyone.”

Cassandra scowled. “We should drag her out.”

“That would not be helpful, Cassandra.” There was a ripple of discontent amongst the Nevarran delegation - she must make sure they got more drinks. “She is already convinced that we are holding her hostage.” She sighed. “I wish we could have back the old Eve.”

Cassandra’s hand fell on her shoulder, and she saw her sorrow reflected in the other woman's eyes. “We all do. Perhaps in time…”

It was a vain hope, but she clung to it nonetheless.

 

How could they be having a party? Eve paced the floor of her prison. It was a luxurious prison, certainly, but she was trapped here as surely as if there had been bars on the windows. Outside a sheer drop to a rocky death, and downstairs this...Inquisition.

They knew her name, her station. Yet they took her for someone else. Someone who was comfortable being surrounded by dangerous apostates, mingling with thugs and commoners and beasts. When she spoke of returning home they changed the subject but denied she was a prisoner. They must know, they must, so why torture her with this pretence? Why the luxury, the title?

She had been mistreated, she was sure of it. Bruises marred her skin, and if she lifted her tunic she could trace the outline of what certainly appeared to be a bite mark. That, or…

No. Her mind shied away from the possibility, even as she recognised it as the more logical explanation. Roland had left worse marks on her, after all. The scar still crossed her back.

Roland. How long had she been gone? His fury would know no bounds. Better after all this time to throw herself onto those rocks than return to Ostwick with no better explanation than “I don't remember.” He'd make her bleed. He'd make her beg and crawl, the things he would do to her were unspeakable. The things he would do if she stayed away would be worse.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter,” she whispered to the empty room.  
“Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written.”

_Maker, help me. Take me home and tell them it's not my fault. I did as they bid. Let everything go back to normal._

A small, bitter voice in her head asked her when, exactly, had things been normal?

 

* * *

 

 

“He has asked permission to court you.”

“Me?” Plain Eve Trevelyan, youngest child of four. There had to be some mistake. She remembered the young man with the handsome face, the pale eyes that followed her as she moved across the dance floor. The hand, gripping her waist a fraction tighter than was proper. He'd wanted _something,_ even she wasn't blind to that though she wasn't sure why it was she who drew his predatory gaze. But courtship? “Are you sure, Mama?”

Her mother laughed. “No, you are right, my dear. It must be our other daughter Eve. How silly of me.”

“But...why?” She had no great beauty, little inheritance. She had answered his overtures with graceless stammering. It was widely accepted that she would end up a Chantry sister, not courted by even a minor lord such as Orrick.

“You made an impression on him, my dear.” There was a hint of steel in Mama’s voice as she adjusted the collar of Eve’s dress. “See that you continue to do so.”

She tried. He was handsome. Young. Charming, even funny at times. Eve couldn't overcome the feeling that she was prey. But her parents welcomed him, invited him to long dinners where they would discuss the sorry state of the Chantry, the weakness of various political leaders, the unacceptable laxity of the Circle here in Ostwick.

“Alone, Mama?” She felt a stirring of unease. “Is it proper?”

“If your Papa and I are happy for you to go riding with Lord Orrick, I fail to see how it could be improper.” Mama dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Wear something nice.”

So she found herself in a pale blue riding dress, galloping through the Ostwick countryside on a summer’s day with Lord Roland and no better chaperone than their two horses.

They pulled up beside a stream for lunch. The grass sloped gently down to the water, and the leaves of giant willows dappled the light. When he kissed her, she didn't pull away. When he covered her body with his and pressed her against the grassy bank, she protested.

“Shh,” he said as he reached under her skirts. “Quiet, Evie.” When she didn't cease struggling he wrapped his hand tight in her hair. “Stay still, and it won't hurt as much.”

She had nothing to compare to, all she knew was that it did hurt, and her tears excited him. He finished less gently than promised.

“Don't fret,” he said as he laced up his breeches. “We'll be married, so it doesn't matter.”

Her lips felt swollen and bruised. Everything felt bruised. “What if I don't want to marry you?”

His eyes narrowed then. He went perfectly still, and she feared for a moment he would strike her. Then the mood passed, and he laughed.

“Oh, Evie,” he said, dragging her hips against his and speaking low and dangerous in her ear. “Who else will want you now?”

That evening he asked their permission, and it was given. Mama disapproved of the state of her dress, her hair, the way she trembled all over.

 

* * *

 

“We should send Bull.”

The Qunari shook his head. “No. That's not a good idea.”

“Fine.” Dorian twirled his moustache thoughtfully. “Cullen, then. She seems to like Templars. At least, she seems not to scream 'get your filthy magic away from me’ at the sight of one.”

“I'm sure that's not what she said, Sparkler.” Varric was more troubled for Bull. He'd withdrawn into himself since the end of the battle. The dwarf couldn't blame him - it was as if someone had died, but was still walking around. Walking around, and looking at you like she'd never met you and you scared her shitless.

“Near enough,” Dorian muttered. “Can we make her go away again? I don't care if it takes blood magic.”

“Curly it is, then.” Best not to respond to the question, in case he was serious. “Do you want me to ask him, Bull?”

“Might be best.” Bull scratched his chin. “Less likely to seem like he's being strong-armed into it, coming from you.”

“Hey,” Varric protested. “I'm known for my arm-wrestling prowess, back in Kirkwall.”

“Anyway, I've got Chargers business.” He avoided their eyes. “Have to leave.”

“You'll come back though, right?” The Qunari crossed his arms. “Right? She's still in there, Tiny. It's just been a week. Don't give up on her yet.”

He shrugged. “I'll be back. We'll see.”

Dorian watched him leave and sighed theatrically. “This has something to do with Solas, I'm sure of it. I'd like to wring it out of him.”

“You and me both,” said Varric. “But we'd have to find him first."

 

There was a knock from downstairs. “Inquisitor?” She ignored it. Then a second time, followed by “Eve? Lady Trevelyan?”

A man. The commander, the one with the curly hair. She pushed against the bonds of her apathy enough to sit upright on the bed, and from there it was simple enough to get her feet on the floor.

“I’m coming,” she called. But it was longer before she could stand up and navigate the stairs.

They had brought her meals, fresh clothes, water for bathing. But she must still look a sight. Her hair, when had she done this to her hair? And these clothes, they fit her body too tightly. It was unseemly.

Cullen. On the fourth day she’d requested information and it had been provided, but she suspected some things were being held back. She was not, after all, _their_ Eve. He had been a Templar, that was something. But a Templar no longer, which smelled of doubt and treachery.

“Come in.” She led the way up the stairs, aware that she was on display in her figure-hugging garb. She couldn’t help putting an extra sway in her step - the habits of seduction died hard, and hers had been branded into her with fire and pain.

“Inquisitor.” Cullen registered her tiny flinch and corrected himself. “Lady Trevelyan.” It sounded odd from his lips, unnatural. Was he used, then, to calling her Eve? Was it his teeth that had marked her skin so?

“How can I help you?” She may be confused, deranged, half-hysterical, but she was still a Trevelyan. She outranked this man in blood and title, and he would remember it.

He rubbed the back of his neck. Discomfort. She could use that. “I...er...we were hoping that you might leave your rooms. Your people haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“My people?”

“The Inquisition, my lady. You are important to them. They look to you to lead.”

“To lead?” she said scornfully. “Those apostates? Those heretics? You expect me to lead them?”

His eyes hardened. “They have bled for you, Inquisitor. They have come from all corners of Thedas to flock to your banner. You owe them respect.”

“I don’t owe a thing.” She leaned back on the desk. Inched her thighs apart, and noticed the flicker of his eyes. Good. “If I’m not a prisoner, let me go home. My family will be eager to hear from me. My betrothed.”

There was a passing hint of annoyance on the Templar’s face. “Lord Orrick? He is your betrothed no longer, my lady.”

It couldn’t be. He would kill her first. She felt a rush of hope, followed by the chill hand of fear. What had she done, this other Eve? It was her death.

None of this made it to her face, her voice. “What do you mean?”

“He assaulted you, Inquisitor.” Cullen watched her carefully. “You had him thrown out of Skyhold.”

She felt the lash of his belt across her back, the choke of his belt around her neck. No. “I didn’t...I wouldn’t.”

“You did.” He drew himself up taller. “It was the right thing to do.”

“You don’t know anything.” Her voice cracked. Was she so out of practice? But the hint of vulnerability made the man’s face soften. She could show weakness. Weakness was a weapon, if used correctly. So was mercy. “You say they wish to see me?”

Relief. He would be useless at the Game, so easily read. “They do. It would be a great kindness, if you would make yourself seen. If only for a few hours.”

She pretended to consider. “Very well. You may go now, Commander Cullen.”

He bowed. As his foot touched the first stair, she caught him. “Cullen. Did we ever…?”

Cullen turned in confusion, then flushed pink with understanding. “Maker’s breath! No.” Punctuated with furious shaking of his head. “No, we did not.”

Good to know. Also good to know, he’d thought about it. Dreamed of it, maybe even acted on it in the small hours of the night, panting and ashamed, spilling into his hand. She could smell the want on him.

“Just curious.” She smiled. “I’m sorry to keep you.”

His shoulders were stiff as he descended, self-conscious.

 _Eve, Eve, Eve,_ she thought. _There are new games to play here._


	2. Chapter 2

“We can't,” she whispered. “Not here.”

“Here is where we are, Evie.” His breath was hot against her neck. “Why don't you cry out, if you're afraid?” The hand bundled in her skirts slipped now between her thighs. The other was at the small of her back, pinning her to him.

Servants passed the alcove bearing trays of food and drink. The hum of conversation was audible from the dining room as his fingers pushed the fabric of her undergarments aside.

“I can't,” she cried softly. “Please, I can't.”

“You'll like it.” But all she felt was discomfort as his fingers probed her.

“They'll want to know where I am.” A finger slid inside her, dragging against her skin.

“They don't care where you are.” He pushed, ground his palm against her and she felt an improbable surge of desire, a dampness between her legs.

No, she didn't want this. Didn't want him. But now his fingers slid against her and it felt good, horribly good.

“No,” she moaned, and he pushed her further into the corner and clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Come for me, Evie,” he whispered, and she didn't know what he meant. _Please stop,_ she begged with her eyes, and also _don't stop, keep going, Maker help me I -_

She jerked and clenched around his fingers and he laughed. “Good girl. I'll teach you, Evie. You'll see.”

 

* * *

 

 

This place was a ruin. She looked up at its crumbling walls with scorn. Out here was as bad as the hall, people smiling at the sight of her, murmuring “Inquisitor”, “Your worship”, “My lady.”

A blonde elf glanced at her as she passed.

“You there, elf.” The girl looked at her in shock. What kind of place was this Inquisition, where even the servants didn't know their place? “Where can I find the commander?”

“Oh that's frigging perfect, that is.” The elf shook her head, disgusted, and carried on walking.

Just as well she'd be going home soon. These people were insane.

 

* * *

 

“Why would I want to learn to fight?” She looked at the daggers in their velvet-lined case, confused.

“Must I spell it out for you, Evie?” Roland moved in close behind her and rested his hands on her hips. “You're the youngest daughter. You have no fortune. You may as well make yourself useful.” She felt his cock hard against her back, and she blushed. “I've seen you dance.” His hands slid upward to cup the swell of her breasts. “There's a grace in the way you move. So smooth. So controlled.” He rubbed against the silky fabric until her nipples were hard, aching peaks. “I'll wager you could learn to fuck just as elegantly, with the right teacher.”

His words woke revulsion and desire in equal measure. She shuddered as he dragged his lips up the side of her neck. “Your parents are pleased that I've offered to instruct you. It means we'll be spending more time together.”

“I don't want to,” she whispered, and he dug his fingers into her flesh, just shy of pain.

“Evie.” Those two syllables were a caress, a violation, a promise of things to come. “It doesn't matter at all what you want. You're nothing but a weapon.”

She still didn't know what he meant when she returned home, bruised and scratched and soiled.

“I think I might want to join the Chantry after all, Mama.”

Lady Trevelyan took her face in her hands and kissed her on the forehead. “Dear Evie,” she said. “You've been called to serve the Maker in a different way.”

 

* * *

 

She wandered aimlessly, still bemused by people's well-wishes. One door led to a mage tower and she exited quickly. Others to dilapidated rooms that could surely be cleaned up and put to better use. Past one of these she finally found the commander’s office.

He seemed pleased to see her. “Inquisitor. It's good to see you up and about.”

“I haven't been sick, Commander Cullen.” She hopped up onto his desk.

“Just Cullen, please.” Her casual familiarity had made him uncomfortable. She put her shoulders back in a way she knew showed her breasts to full advantage.

“Just Cullen.” Her head tilted to the side - not too much, she didn't wish to be obvious. “I was hoping I might be able to contact some people back home. Let them know I'm well.”

He walked towards the window and she noticed his movement put the desk between them. Perfect. He was on the back foot, distancing himself consciously or otherwise. Exactly where she wanted him.

“You're welcome to communicate with whoever you wish.” There it was again, the hand rubbing his neck that showed he was nervous. “You - Eve - you were in contact with your family previously. It was...not successful.”

“What does that mean?” She twisted to look at him and caught his brief glance at her chest before he looked away, embarrassed.

“We...that is...it appears they tried to have you assassinated.”

Cold settled in her belly. “Nonsense,” she snapped. “They wouldn't. They're my family.”

“I am sorry, Inquisitor.” He was. Whatever else was happening, he believed this story of assassins. But they couldn't. They wouldn't.

 _They would,_ her mind whispered. _They could. You were nothing to them but a weapon._

“Let me write to them,” she begged. “There's been a misunderstanding.”

“Of course you can write to them, Eve. Write whatever you want, and we'll have it sent.”

“How do I know you will?” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and his eyes went soft with sympathy.

“You have my word.”

Voice low and husky. She could ask him for almost anything right now. She could have him fuck her right here on his desk. “And Lord Orrick?”

He was troubled, but for her, not by her. “If that is your wish, you may contact him.”

“Thank you, Cullen.” She smiled sweetly and saw his lips quirk up in response, his hand raised to the back of his neck. Just a weapon, but she was still sharp.

 

* * *

 

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm trying.”

“Not good enough, Evie.” He was without mercy. “Again.”

She practiced until her arms ached, and finally she parried his thrust, steel ringing against steel.

“We can take a rest now.” Rest didn't mean rest, she knew. Rest meant he would use her body, twist pleasure and pain together until she could hardly experience one without the other.

“Do you know how you make a weapon, Evie?” he had asked her. With his cock hitting the back of her throat, she could hardly answer. “You don't just shape it into what you want. You have to melt it down. Take it apart then reforge it.” His fingers had tangled hard in her hair as he fucked her mouth. “That's why I have to break you down. It's for your own good. You'll be stronger in the end, you'll see.”

He was quick to displeasure and he didn't make idle threats.

“How will you learn if I don't follow through?” Chaining her for hours, returning only to reposition her and fuck her in a different way. “When I'm done with you you'll be unstoppable. You'll be a bard.”

 _I don't want to be a bard._ She didn't say it. He didn't want to hear it, and when she said things he didn't want to hear the punishment was swift and brutal. _I don't want to be a weapon._

 

* * *

 

 

She learned the quickest way to Cullen's room. Missives were sent to Ostwick, brief and short on detail but between the lines she begged for forgiveness. Mercy. Please, I tried my best. Please don't punish me. The longer she stayed in Skyhold, the more she felt the noose tighten around her neck.

But she had a friend now. A protector. Just a little push and he'd be hers. He leaned to retrieve a paper from his desk, and she caught his face and kissed him.

He stiffened in surprise, but he didn't pull away. Not even when her tongue slipped between his lips. She remembered the gesture he used to calm himself and slipped a hand around the back of his neck, stroking him with her thumb. He moaned against her mouth and she let out a soft gasp in return, pressed his hand inside her tunic to feel the soft swell of her breast.

“Maker,” he moaned. “We shouldn't. Eve, I shouldn't.”

“Shh.” Her hand slipped between them, tracing the outline of his cock through his breeches.

“No.” He pulled back, and when her hand kept moving against him he grabbed her wrist. “We cannot do this.”

“Why not?” she asked. “You want to, I know you do.”

“You are not yourself, Eve.” He peeled her other hand from the back of his neck and held her at arm's length.

Panic awoke in her, and with it something like fury. “I'm more myself than I have been the last two years,” she hissed. She reminded herself that he wasn't a target she had been set, there would be no punishment if she failed to seduce him. It didn't help.

“No, Inquisitor.” Cullen was steadfast. “You will regret this. You are not...unattached.”

Who, then? Blackwall? The Tevinter mage? If that was the case she was a poorer judge of people than she knew. Right now, all she knew was the ache between her thighs and her lips swollen from kissing.

“Please,” she whispered. “I'm so alone.” And hearing it, she knew it to be true. Someone had marked her body, someone had bruised her and bitten her and she hungered for him, wanted him to take her in unspeakable ways, ways her body remembered even if her mind forgot.

“I'm sorry, Eve.” Cullen released her and stood back. “I should not have let this go so far. Please forgive me.”

The message was clear: she should leave.

In her quarters her own hands ran over her body, her fingers in her cunt, not enough. Not just sex, she craved, but tenderness. Her mind shied away from the word, _love_. But her body had known something, while she slept. Not cruelty, not harm. It hadn't been gentle, the marks on her body told her that much. But it had been real, and she needed it back.

 

The Chargers returned the next day. Mercenaries, a ragtag bunch led by the Qunari beast who had frightened her so when she first woke from her long sleep. She watched their triumphant procession through the gates with more than a hint of disdain.

There was a scuff of slippered feet next to her and she glanced up to see the elf. Sera, she knew now, but she had avoided her since mistaking her for a servant on her first day out. The dislike was mutual.

She looked amused now, seeing Eve’s contempt for the Qunari and his mercenaries.

“You and him were getting it off all over the place til a couple of weeks ago,” she said. “Just so’s you know.”

And off she skipped, leaving Eve sitting slack-jawed on the steps.

 


	3. Chapter 3

She wouldn't think about it. It was a lie, had to be. It was impossible to think she had lain willingly with that scarred, savage beast. Then perhaps it was unwilling? That must be it, she'd been coerced somehow. He had some hold over her. Blackmail? He knew who she was, and she'd given over her body to him in exchange for silence.

The thought should disgust her, but it awoke different feelings entirely. So she wouldn't think about it.

Her assassin was down here, somewhere.

There were few prisoners. Other Eve was all for forgiveness, atonement. Weakness. It was surprising she'd survived the attack.

She paused before a cell and the occupant’s eyes met hers. This, then, was the woman who would have killed her.

“I know you.”

 

* * *

 

Val Royeaux. It would all be very proper. She would stay with Roland’s aunt by marriage, no chance of scandal. Of course that didn't take into account the long journey by carriage, her lady's maid ordered to sit outside while he gripped her hair, the carriage floor rattling under her knees. The ocean, on a ship full of dark corners where she would find herself with a hand down her bodice and another up her skirts.

Val Royeaux was breathtaking in its scale and grandeur. The opulence of the streets outside was nothing to the interior of Lady Marianne’s apartments, tastefully furnished in cream and gilt. The lady herself greeted them warmly, tall and stately with hints of grey in her pale hair.

“Take these up to our room,” Roland ordered a servant.

“Our room?” Eve looked between them, confused. “I thought…”

Lady Marianne turned away with a polite smile.

“My dear aunt doesn't care for those sorts of silly social conventions.” Roland ran a lingering hand over her bodice. “Truth be told, neither do your parents. You're here to be trained, and to that end I could fuck you over the drawing room table and nobody would say a word.” Eve flushed pink with shame. “However, out of respect to our dear hostess,” he offered a small bow to the lady of the house, “I thought it might be nicer to have a room of our own. To conduct our affairs in private, as it were.”

She wasn't sure why this was a shared joke between the two of them, but she would know soon enough.

 

There was no mention during the day of the sounds that escaped that upstairs room. Lady M, for that was what Roland called her, would make small talk over breakfast. Eve was grateful for the Free Marches style of dress with its high collars and long sleeves. She may not look very fashionable on their strolls through the capital, but at least nobody could see the marks on her wrists and neck, welts and bruises of pain and possession. Until he took her to a little shop off the main square and she was forced to stand, exposed, while two chattering Orlesian women fitted her with undergarments that left nothing to the imagination. After that she was taken to be fitted for a mask, a subtle thing of onyx and jet.

He stopped hurting her in ways that left a mark. Soon she was taken to balls, dressed in the Orlesian fashion with the pale swell of her breasts exposed, and schooled in the Game. She was introduced under a different name, although “Nobody really cares who a Marcher is, anyway,” Roland said. “They don't see you as a threat.” A finger dragged down her throat and across the tops of her breasts, a hot whisper in her ear. “They should.”

 

* * *

 

“They took a risk, sending you here.” It was an incongruous sight, Lady M in a plain spun dress with her hair unadorned. “What if I had recognised you?”

The woman smiled without humour. “Would you have been fool enough to expose us both, if you had?” She wrapped her elegant fingers around the bars. “I was sent at first to bring you home. When it was clear what you had become, it was necessary instead to remove you.”

Eve reminded herself that she was no longer that scared, provincial girl in Val Royeaux. Here, she had all the power. “What I had become?”

“A heretic. A mage sympathiser. Consort to a Qunari savage. How could you be welcomed back among your family, with such a stain on your honour?”

There had been no such concern for her honour, when Roland had been the one staining it.

“Why not leave me alone, then?”

The woman's eyes flashed with anger. “Look around at the damage you've done! The mages given unprecedented freedoms. The Templar order all but destroyed. This new Divine you have schemed to put on the Sunburst Throne, even worse than the old one!”

“The templars destroyed themselves! We saved the world.”

Lady M spat at her feet. “This world doesn't deserve saving. You should know that by now.”

 

* * *

 

“I'm your bardmaster, Evie. I own you.” Roland’s grip on her neck was just short of bruising. “That means you fuck who I tell you to fuck.”

“But...who are they?” she whispered. The two men were masked and silent, and somehow that made them all the more terrifying. She wanted to cover herself, aware that her flimsy Orlesian garments did little to help in this regard. But if she did, she'd be punished.

“It doesn't matter.” His fingers drifted over her body, a proprietary gesture for the two strangers. “The lesson is twofold. It's about seduction, and it's about following _fucking orders.”_ He pushed her towards the bed. “Now show me what you've learned of both.”

There were more such encounters. Roland watched from the corner, a glass of wine in hand like it was a night at the opera. There was no winning this game. If she didn't play her part well enough, it was deemed a failure. Too well, and it sparked a jealous rage. Either way he was upon her afterwards, sometimes before the interlopers had left the room, taking her with a cold fury.

The next step was to seduce targets he set for her, men and sometimes women. He would point them out across the ballroom, and it was her job to use all the tricks of her voice and her body to draw them into an illicit tryst. The price of failure was painful and humiliating enough to distract her from the price of success. There was power to be had, too, in the way she could quicken a pulse with the slightest shift of her hips, make a target breathe quicker with a throaty cadence of her voice. At times she almost enjoyed herself. Even when their joining was hurried and frantic, these unwitting lovers were more gentle than her own.

He'd draw out the details later, who did what to whom, what went where, how much of her body did they get to see, did she come? Regardless of the real answer she would tell him no, and she got better at lying.  _Only you can make me come,_ she would tell him, and his fingers at her throat would relax a little.

Sometimes she was tasked with drawing out information or rifling through drawers. And, eventually, came the order to kill.

 

* * *

 

They went afield. There were still more of these mysterious rifts to close, and it was a thrill to be the one responsible. She took Cassandra, reasoning that it could be useful to get close to the new Divine. The dwarf proved to be surprisingly good company, and even the Tevinter made her laugh at times. If not for his magic, he might not have been out of place at an Ostwick dinner party.

When they returned, it was to a response from Bann and Lady Trevelyan. Short and to the point.

 _There is no home for you here, Qunari whore,_ it read. _You are no longer our daughter._

In the privacy of her quarters, she cried for her lost family. Now she was truly alone.

 

* * *

 

“Why are you back here, if it's not done?” Roland twisted her arm behind her back until she cried out in pain.

“I couldn't! I can't.” Her morality might be in tatters, but to kill a stranger was a step too far. She'd never really intended to go through with it, had hoped in vain that this might be the one time when failure was acceptable.

“I don't like to leave marks on you, Evie,” he hissed. “But you leave me no choice. Now strip.”

She was obstinately silent, until the last stroke of his belt tore the flesh of her back and a scream was wrenched from her throat.

His knees settled on either side of her. “Don't disappoint me again, Evie.” Her tears stained the pillow. “Now, on your hands and knees like a good girl.”

 

* * *

 

“You're Tal-Vashoth.” It wasn't a question.

“Yeah.” The Qunari didn't look up from his seat.

“There are Tal-Vashoth in the Free Marches. They're bandits. Murderers and rapists. Savages.”

His mouth curled in a half-smile. “Yep, that sounds like me.”

Eve leaned back against a barrel. It was a conscious provocation. Let him think about having her, here in the tavern, bent backwards underneath him. Still, he didn't look at her.

“They say that's not you,” she continued. “Is that supposed to reassure me, that you're more like a regular Qunari? It wasn't Tal-Vashoth that set fire to Kirkwall.”

He took a long draught of his pint, finally met her eyes. “There a point to this line of questioning, boss?”

Boss. The sound woke something in her, sent a tremble through her thighs. “Just trying to find out who you are.”

“Why?”

“Because you work for me. And I've heard...things.”

His smile widened, still didn't quite reach his eye. “What sort of things?”

“Lies,” she spat. “Rumours. About me, and...you.” She conveyed her distaste with the last word, but his smile didn't falter. Instead he rose to his feet, slowly, and she was painfully aware how much smaller she was than he.

“So you want me to deny it?” He stood close now, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body.

“Of course I do. Look at you. You're a savage. Little more than a beast.”

His eye glinted dangerously and he leaned down to speak low and soft in her ear.

“Want the truth? I've stuck my dick in you more times than I can count. I've had you on your back, on your knees, tied up and blindfolded and gagged, and I've used you every way a body can be used. I've fucked you and fingered you and stuck things in you, and licked every inch of that tight little cunt until you cried out for your Maker. And you loved every fucking minute. Is that what you want to know?”

She stared up at him, speechless. Worse, breathless, a wet ache between her legs. She wanted him, this savage. Wanted everything he'd just described, and more, and he saw it.

He chuckled then, and stepped back. “See you later, boss.” He left her leaning against the barrel, trembling with more than fear.


	4. Chapter 4

“Get away from me!” It was a scream. Anger, yes, but also a high note of panic. Heads in the tavern turned towards the sound.

Fuck. Bull heaved himself out of his chair. They’d attracted a small crowd outside, and he wasn’t sure who looked more scared, Eve or Cole.

“Shh. Easy.” There was a time when he could have laid his hands on her and calmed her down. Now the best he could do was put a hand on Cole’s back. “What happened?”

“I was talking to Eve,” said Cole. His eyes were wide with alarm. “She didn’t like it.”

“What did you say?”

“He wasn’t talking to me!” she cried. “He was talking to _her_.”

Bull turned the boy to face him. “That true, Cole?”

“She’s lost,” he said in a small voice. “Missing. She wants to come back.”

For a moment, Bull stopped breathing. His eyes flickered to the Inquisitor. She was looking around desperately at the gathered crowd, and she saw the same thing in their faces that he saw. The worst thing possible. Hope.

“Leave me alone, demon,” she whispered.

“I’m not a demon,” Cole said, confused.

“I don’t care what you are. Stay out of my head. Stay out of my sight.”

“Come on.” Bull steered him towards the tavern. “Let’s give the lady some space.” Seeing an end to the drama, people began to drift back to their work.

“That’s not what she needs.” Cole glanced back at the Inquisitor, still standing ashen-faced in the courtyard. “All she has is space.”

“Still,” he said. “Let’s give her some more, for now.”

 

* * *

 

She returned to Ostwick a killer. A weapon. Melted down and shaped into something new and sharp.

“A Conclave.” Bann Trevelyan was incensed. “Victoire would have crushed this rebellion by now. The Templars would never have left the Chantry.”

Eve didn’t join in the conversation. She plucked idly at her lute, watching the rain beat against the windows.

“We may never have a chance like this again.” Languid in his chair, Roland watched the Bann pace. “Send a delegation. Nobody will question your involvement. She will go with them.”

“Is she ready?” Her father glanced in her direction, skeptical.

She didn’t need to see Roland’s face to imagine his expression. “Oh yes. She’s ready.”

“I’ll make the necessary arrangements, then.”

Nobody asked her thoughts. You don’t ask the blade if it’s ready to cut. You just swing, and hope for the best.

 

* * *

 

“They don’t teach you to knock in Ostwick?” He didn’t turn, focused on polishing his leather harness.

“I didn’t know you people were so concerned with manners.” She pulled the door closed behind her. “Besides, you knew I was coming.”

“You still move the same.” He worked the leather in long, slow sweeps, and the movement of the muscles in his shoulders was almost hypnotic. “What do you want?”

“Not so well mannered after all.” She made a show of looking around. “Just wanted to see where you live.”

“Why?”

To be honest, she wasn't sure herself. Seeking intimacy, perhaps. Seeking a measure of control. Eve sat next to him on the bed, tested the mattress with her weight. “I suppose we did it here, then?”

The movement stilled. “There is no ‘we’, boss. That wasn’t you.”

“No?” In a fluid movement, she crossed her legs underneath her. “You said yourself, we move the same. Look the same. What’s the difference?”

“Everything.”

“Look at me, Bull.” A flinch at the sound of his name - it was subtle, but she caught it. He turned slowly. “Would it be so horrible?”

“You tell me, boss. I’m the savage here.”

She ran light fingers up his thigh. “We all need a little savagery from time to time.”

“Don’t do that.” He stood and moved away, a hint of anger on his face. Was that the way in, then? Not seduction. Provocation.

“Why not?” She kicked her boots off. “You’ve done it a thousand times. You told me. _Every way a body can be used_ , you said.” Reached for the top of her tunic, and saw his eyes linger on the movement of her fingers on the clasps.

“I don’t want to touch you. I don’t want anything to do with you.” The unsteady rhythm of his breath gave lie to the words, but they still stung.

“Why? Just because I’m not her?” Her smile mocked him as she shrugged off her tunic.

“You should leave. Put your clothes back on and get out of here.” There was a warning in his voice that she didn’t heed as she slid her leggings down and kicked them off the side of the bed.

“Is that it? Or is it more?”

Her breastband slid away and she saw his eye narrow and darken.

“Is it because your lover’s dead, and I’m the one that killed her?” She ran her hands down her body.

There was an animal growl, and suddenly his body caged her against the mattress. “You’re a real fucking bitch, you know that?”

Eve laughed, exultant. “What are you going to do about it?” She could feel the anger seething beneath his skin.

“I should kick you out of here now,” he growled. “Make you walk back naked.”

The arch of her back brushed her nipples against his bare chest. “You won’t.”

“Don’t test me.”

Her legs drew apart, his massive thigh sliding between them. “Why? What happens if I test you?” She rubbed against him, moaned softly. 

Giant hands seized her wrists and pinned them above her head. “You don’t want to find out,” he snarled.

His cock was pressing hard against her belly. "Oh,” she whispered, “but I do.”

His fingers tangled in her smallclothes and tugged, and the torn fabric fluttered uselessly to the floor. She felt how his fingers shook as he traced the bite mark on her hip.

“You did that?” He didn’t answer, just dug in with his thumb and she gasped.

“This won’t be gentle.”

“I’d be disappointed if it was.” She wriggled and he allowed her enough space to turn onto her stomach. “Is this how Qunari do it? Rutting like beasts?”

Bull yanked her hips up roughly. “Seems suitable, to fuck you like a bitch.”

“Then why are we still talking?” Her hips pushed back against him and he growled again. There was a shifting of the mattress behind her, then he thrust into her without ceremony.

She bit back a cry as he slammed home. His body covered hers, chest pressed to her back, weight resting on his elbows as he fucked her. As promised, it wasn’t gentle. Teeth scraped her neck, his thighs slapped against hers as he drove into her over and over. Starved as she was, she felt her climax rushing up to take her.

“Not so fast.” He pulled back and she cried out in frustration. Fingers tangled in her hair and lifted her face from the bed, and she straightened to brace her arms against the mattress. He took her again, as rough and brutal as before, hands on her hips dragging her back hard against him with each thrust so his cock pounded deeper inside. She came, pulsing and rippling around him, her arms giving way beneath her.

Foreign curses poured from his mouth. She couldn’t understand his words, but she understood the rake of his nails on her hips, the animal ferocity with which he drove her down into the mattress. She didn’t expect the press of a hand between her legs, his broad finger rubbing furiously at her clit until she broke again and again. She didn’t expect his cry of anguish when he came inside her, the raw pain in his voice.

Eve lay face down, sweaty and ragged, his seed drying on her thighs.

“Get out.” Her tunic and leggings landed on the mattress.

“Give me a minute,” she mumbled.

“If you’re still here when I finish counting I’ll throw you out, dressed or not.”

She glared at him, large and naked on the edge of the bed. “How high are you counting?”

There was something cruel in his smile. “You better not stay long enough to find out.”

As she worked the last fastening of her tunic closed, she looked up at him. He stared at the wall, his massive shoulders slumped. “Bull.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry about Eve.”

He didn’t turn around. “Yeah. Me too.”

 

* * *

 

“You know what you need to do, Evie.” He kissed her, tongue pushing past her lips, and she let him. “And when you come back, we’ll be married.”

She smiled. “That sounds wonderful.” The scratches and bruises from last night would accompany her on her journey, let her remember who owned her and whose unloving attentions she could expect on her return.

“Off you go, then.” He nudged her towards the waiting carriage. “Make us proud.”

Once more across the Waking Sea, this time to Ferelden. To Haven.


	5. Chapter 5

Eve was surprised to find him waiting in her quarters the next night.

“Come to apologise, have you?” She held her imperious expression as he advanced on her. He stopped mere inches away and she was forced to crane her neck to meet his eye instead of the silvery expanse of his chest.

“For giving you the best fuck you've ever had?” His arms were crossed, but his low voice stroked her like an illicit lover’s fingers between her thighs. “Or did I read that wrong?”

“You…” Fuck. Maker. What had she been about to say? “What do you want?”

“This.” Now he really was touching her, broad hands sliding down her sides to rest on her hips. When she didn't pull away, he drew a hand around her waist. The other followed the metal fastenings of her tunic, lingering on the curve of her breast. The top clasp flicked open. “And this.”

“I thought you didn't want anything to do with me?” It was disgusting how ready she was for him, how she wanted those scarred hands on her, inside her. The beautiful ache of him filling her the way he did last night.

A second clasp undone. "Yeah, well.” As if he read her mind, not hard to do the way her breath hitched when he brushed her skin. “That was right before I stuck my cock in you, so…” A third. “But it's not _you_ I want.” The last few impediments taken care of and he parted the tunic to stare at her pale, high breasts. “It's this.” Rough thumbs circled her nipples and she stifled a needy moan.

Just her body, then. It wasn't the worst deal she'd ever been offered. Roland, after all, had demanded not just her body but her pain, her blood, her very soul. Compared to that a meaningless fuck was heaven. She looked in his face and didn't flinch.

“Take it, then.”

It was merely a transaction, his body for hers. That second night he shrugged the tunic down her arms and twisted it, binding her wrists behind her back, but she wasn't afraid. This body remembered his touch and he knew all its secrets, how to tip it to the edge and draw it back again, have her quivering with want and then screaming with release.  
  
She came to expect him to be waiting in her quarters, sad and silent, ready to strip her down and use her in all the ways she needed to be used. The late hours of the day found her wriggling and impatient to escape her duties. No questions between them, little speech, just wet and heat and the frantic pursuit of pleasure.

There were times, though, when she caught a look in his eye. He'd glance at her face and there it was, a silent plea. Like he was hoping maybe if he circled his tongue like _that_ , pressed a thumb into her neck right _there_ , just fucked her hard enough and long enough and good enough he might wake his lost Eve. As if the fingers moving in her cunt beckoned her back to him.

* * *

  
The Conclave was chaotic, and crowded, and strange. Haven’s one inn was overflowing, but Eve and her Templar cousins found lodging in the town with a sour-faced shopkeeper. “Mages have made a bloody mess of the place,” she complained. “Your lot aren’t much better, mind, but at least you stand for something. You seem civilised enough, anyway.”  
  
Eve wandered the streets of Haven, both of them. She’d never seen so many apostates walking around openly. They didn’t look too threatening. Looked terrified, in fact. Which probably made them more of a threat than they would have been otherwise.

She wondered what they'd seen to give them that haunted look. Couldn't tell what scared them more - the Templars, each other, themselves.

 

* * *

 

Her companions still looked at her like she was a stranger wearing the skin of their friend. She must have seen something in them, this other Eve. So she asked them questions, learned their stories. One night Varric invited her to play cards, a game that was certainly never played in the drawing rooms of Ostwick, and she was surprised at how much she enjoyed their company.

A warm evening found her on the tavern roof, watching the sun set behind the parapets. There was a soft footfall behind her, and a sound of exasperation. Sera flopped down next to her.

“Why are you here?” she said rudely.  
  
“I don’t know.” Eve drew her legs up to her chin and wrapped her arms around herself. “It just seemed like the right place to go.”  
  
Sera looked at her, puzzled. “Frigging weird, you are.”  
  
“Should I take that as a compliment, coming from you?” The elf gave her a reluctant smile. “Hey.”  
  
“Hey yourself.”  
  
“Do you want to go get a drink?”  
  
“What, really? With you?” Sera’s face took on a spectrum of expressions. A knitted brow, a scowl, finally a grin. “Fuck it, why not?”  
  
Gradually they let their guard down, and she hers. Eve Trevelyan, friend to apostates and elves and demons, dwarves and heretics and deviants from Tevinter. Every day she missed her family less.

* * *

  
Even with a warm winter cloak over the top, her Free Marches dress attracted some attention. There were any number of outlandish costumes that would draw the eye more than hers, but she paid more than it was worth for the shapeless coat and trousers of a mercenary. Enough of the delegates travelled with hired guards, one more could blend into the crowd.  
  
It was wintry, and bleak, and miles away from Roland. She closed her eyes and let the snow kiss her face.  
  
We’ll be married when you get back, he’d said. What would that look like, life as his wife? More or less frightening, more or less degrading? At least he'd spill his seed inside her and she wouldn't have to clean the sticky mess off her back or breasts. Perhaps if she carried his child he'd be slower to strike her down or choke her with those cruel hands. Would children soften him? Any child of his would surely claw its way free of her belly. Bite at her breasts and claw at her thighs and suck the life out of her, just like its father.

 

* * *

  
One night as he was buried inside her a word fell from her lips, and he went perfectly still.  
  
“What did you say?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Just then. You said something.” There was an intensity in his face that frightened her a little.  
  
“I said…” She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know. Something like...Kadan?”  
  
“Where did you hear that?”  
  
His fingers dug into her shoulder. “Bull, you’re hurting me.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” He relaxed his grip. “It’s important. Where did you get that word from?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Why did you say it?”  
  
“I don’t know!” she cried. “It doesn’t mean anything.”  
  
“It does.” There was a wild hope in his eye. He moved again inside her, and there was a tenderness in his embrace she’d never experienced. “It means everything.”  
  
That night he worshipped between her legs, teased climax after climax out of her shaking body, and for a time in his arms it felt like she’d come home.  
  
  
  
“Have you come to shout at me?” Cole peered nervously from under his hat.  
  
“No.” Eve sat down next to him on the wall. “It’s a nice day. I’m just enjoying the sunshine.”  
  
He was silent, not convinced.  
  
“Cole?”  
  
“Yes, first Eve?”  
  
Oh, Maker. At least he didn’t call her second Eve.  
  
“What does Kadan mean?”  
  
He considered the question. “Safe. Soft. Bound, but in a good way. Family.”  
  
She felt wretchedly, absurdly guilty. “Did I take that from him?” Tears stung her eyes. “Did I send her away, when I came back?”  
  
“No.” His pale eyes were disconcerting. “There’s room for you both.”  
  
“That can’t be right.” Nobody could be two people at once. “How?”  
  
“Just remember,” Cole said, and she couldn’t get any more sense out of him after that.

 

* * *

  
She daydreamed about escape. Forget the mission. Change her name and vanish to...where? Antiva? Rivain? Where could she go that she wouldn’t be found? He did love to hunt.

If she joined a mercenary company she'd have people around her. Her skills would be useful and if that wasn't enough she could ensure their loyalty in other ways. But looking around at the battle-hardened faces she was wary of exchanging one cruel master for another. There was no kindness in the world for the likes of her. Roland had seen it in her first, something he could subjugate and twist to his own ends.  
  
She went as far as paying an elf to cut her hair off, and when she saw herself reflected she almost imagined she could disappear. But if he found her, oh, if he found her...she’d be better off dead.

 

* * *

 

An answer came to her letter.  
  
_All is forgiven. Come home and we can go on as before. I love you._  
  
I love you. It was never _I love you._ Always _You love me._ Bruising, biting demands. _Tell me you love me._ The belt around her neck choking her, _You love me, Evie, say it,_ released just long enough to choke the words out before his seed splashed hot over her back. _You love me,_ a savage litany as he thrust into her. _You love me,_ punctuated with his fists.  
  
“He’s going to kill me.”  
  
It was so obvious, when she spoke it aloud. It was inevitable. Sooner or later, he’d kill her. It had always been so.  
  
She became aware of the room around her, her advisors watching her with concern. “He’s going to kill me. Oh Maker, I can’t...help me, please. He’s going to kill me.” She couldn’t stop saying it, even when she found herself crushed against Josie’s puffy shoulder, staining the damp fabric with her tears. “He’s going to kill me.”  
  
She was shepherded into a chair and a glass of wine pressed into her hand, but she couldn’t stop shaking. She was aware that Leliana had vanished. Her teeth were chattering, it was ridiculous, she was seated right next to the fire. She couldn't stop shaking.  
  
Then Leliana was back, and with her Bull, whispering in her ear to breathe, gripping her neck with a hand that should have driven her to fresh waves of panic. Instead calming warmth ran through her veins and her heart slowed, she found her lungs could once again take in oxygen. She held his wrist, dumbly grateful.  
  
There was another person with Leliana, a severe-looking elven woman.  
  
“Inquisitor,” said Leliana. “You have met before, but a new introduction may be necessary.” She smiled, the smile of a cat with a pigeon in its claws. “This is Heir.”

 

* * *

  
It was with a sense of inevitability that she stalked the corridors in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. That way, the library. This way, off-limits, the offices of the Divine. That was the path she took.  
  
Voices behind the door. A creeping feeling of wrongness. Justinia should be alone, all her gathered intelligence pointed to it being so. Eve gripped her dagger tightly.  
  
And then a shout, unmistakable, “Somebody help me!” The Divine, crying for help. Someone else then, would complete her mission. She could return home, no failure, no punishment, no crime.

Home.  
  
There was more than one attacker in there with her. It seemed unlikely she would escape. If any one person tried to come to her aid it would be their death.  
  
But perhaps it would buy the Divine enough time to escape. One girl with a dagger, she’d be run through by half a dozen swords before she had time to take one or two of them down. She’d bleed out on the floor. In a way, it might even be peaceful. Death, and redemption, and freedom.  
  
She laid her hand on the door and pushed.

 

* * *

 

Morning light illuminated her quarters and she sat up, groggy. She’d tried to help the Divine. That’s what the memories had shown her in the Fade.  
  
In the Fade. Adamant. The wardens. Halamshiral, finding Skyhold, the attack on Haven, Redcliffe. And through it all, Bull. Protector and friend and lover.  
  
And she was Eve. Ostwick Eve, and Haven Eve, and Skyhold Eve. She was broken down and reforged, and finally she was whole.  
  
  
  
“Where's Bull?” The Inquisitor was frantic, manic. And happy. It was far too long since Varric had seen her happy.  
  
“I think he's out in the practice yard.”  
  
He felt like it was nosy, but he just had to follow her outside. To see her run to Bull, hear her breathless, “Kadan.”  
  
See the light come back into his face as he swept her up and swung her around, both of them smiling like suddenly, the world was perfect.  
  
He couldn't make this shit up.  
  
  
  
They didn't leave her quarters for days, finally emerging sleepy and starving and utterly, utterly happy.  
  
There was news waiting for Eve, a message from Heir.  
  
“An accident, you say?” Eve traced the missive with her fingers. “He always did love hunting.”  
  
"Indeed." Leliana smiled. "It is most unfortunate."  
  
The weight was almost lifted from her chest. One last thing.  
  
“Leliana…”  
  
“Yes, Inquisitor.”  
  
“You have a list of everyone killed at the Conclave?”  
  
“As many as we could identify,” the spymaster answered.  
  
“Is it possible to add one more name?”  
  
  
  
She stood in the safe circle of Bull's arms as sparks flew into the night air.  
  
“I don't understand.” Cole watched the crackling flames spread over the pyre. “There's no body.”  
  
“You don't need a body for a funeral.” Eve smiled up at Bull and he kissed her forehead.  
  
"But the Trevywhatsits know you're not dead, yeah? So what's the point?"  
  
"It's not for them, Sera. It's for me."  
  
“So, Kadan." Bull reached out to ruffle Sera's hair and she made a rude sound. "If Eve Trevelyan’s dead, who are you now?”  
  
“Oh, I have enough names to go on with for now,” she said. “Herald. Inquisitor."  
  
"Foggy," Varric interjected.  
  
"Foggy! And Eve. Just Eve." She rested her head against Bull's chest. "And Kadan.”  
  
“I like the last one.” He squeezed the air from her lungs and she laughed, breathless and joyful.  
  
“Me too.”  
  
With her friends around her she watched her old life go up in flames, and the wind carried the sparks away over Skyhold.

Skyhold, her home.


End file.
